A Man of Letters
by Lothiriel84
Summary: Five times Red John presented someone with a book. - Spoilers up to 5x04.


******_Author's note: _**_Written for the Paint It Red January 2013 Monthly Challenge - prompt: "Letters"._

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**A Man of Letters**

xxx

_**1. Hermann Melville**_

No one paid any attention to the man pushing a serving cart down the corridor. He was wearing the uniform of the care staff, and everybody knew that one the usual staff members was home, sick.

When he finally reached his intended destination his fingers twitched ever so slightly around the key ring. He unlocked the door, pushed the cart inside and shut the door.

The room smelled of disinfectant and fresh paint, and he could clearly see the spot on the wall where the copycat red smiley had been. The other members of the care staff said that the patient kept on painting it in his own blood, no matter how many times they wiped it away.

He poured some lukewarm tea into a plastic cup and placed it on the nightstand. Of course they wouldn't leave potentially dangerous crockery within the patient's reach, and yet he couldn't help but think that serving tea in plastic cups was nothing short than a crime.

But then, hospital tea was probably bad enough – and that wouldn't change if they decided to serve it in white china teacups. Biscuits looked even less tempting, were that possible.

He sighed and faced the man sitting on the bed, who was currently staring right through him with unseeing eyes.

"You have to get out of here, Patrick. I miss your quick wits."

As he got no reaction at all, he leaned forward and whispered in the other man's ear.

"What's the white whale going to do without Ahab pursuing him?"

With that he pulled a worn-out paperback edition of _Moby Dick_ out of his pocket.

Patrick Jane's eyes rested briefly on the book that had been shoved into his hands. John pushed the cart out of the room and carefully locked the door behind.

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_**2. Lyman Frank Baum**_

Bang. Bang. Bang.

The petite brunette across the room was a terrifically good shot, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching her.

He didn't mind coming to the shooting range from time to time, even more so because it provided the perfect opportunity to take a closer look at his opponents. Cops were far less suspicious than usual as they were practicing with their guns, and that only made it easier for him to gauge which kind of men – or women – they actually were.

The one a few steps away from him was for sure very dedicated to her job; stubborn, feisty, and fiercely loyal to her colleagues.

John liked her. She was exactly what Patrick needed in order to avoid falling over the edge once more. Teresa Lisbon was a lot like brave little Dorothy, and the good witch Glinda at the same time; she would lead him through the Land of Oz unscathed.

That's why he'd slipped a copy of _The Wonderful Wizard of Oz_ into her bag.

_From a devoted admirer_ – those were the words written in his elegant handwriting on the title page.

She would never guess who her secret admirer actually was.

xxx

_**3. William Blake**_

Observing the team that had taken up his case, he'd learned that each of them had their little – or not so little – idiosyncrasies. And he was more than pleased to discover that Lisbon's second in command shared his love for books.

Kimball Cho couldn't be described as a bookworm, but he surely liked a good reading from time to time; not to mention the fact that his preference was always for classics.

One day he purposely bumped into him as they were both strolling along the shelves of the largest book shop in town. The Asian agent apologized laconically and picked up the book the stranger had (quite conveniently) dropped.

John smirked as he saw the other quickly scanning the title. _Songs of Innocence and of Experience_ had been his favorite collection of poems ever since he'd read them as a student, and he still loved them.

"It's beautiful," he said slowly. "God created the lamb, but He also made the tiger. You can't have light without dark, life without death."

He was almost sure he'd seen a sparkle of interest in the other man's unblinking eyes. Without another word he walked away, whistling softly between himself.

xxx

**_4. Lewis Carroll_  
**

Contrary to popular belief, John wasn't a completely heartless man.

Seeing the redhead slowly falling apart at the seams made him feel sincerely sorry. Craig would have been the perfect husband for her, if only things had gone differently.

And now Grace Van Pelt looked decidedly lost, like Alice as she was falling down the rabbit hole – deeper and deeper into the darkness, without knowing when she was going to hit the ground.

What she didn't know was that her life prior to the incident had never been real; one day she would wake up and find that it had all been just a dream.

In the meanwhile he left a beautifully illustrated copy of _Alice in Wonderland_ inside her locker at the gym where she was having her yoga class. He could only hope that she would be able to see his point when she found it.

xxx

_**5. William Shakespeare**_

The sheer beauty of Patrick's plan had left him quite breathless. Wayne Rigsby had been able to exact his revenge on the man that had killed his father, and get himself off the hook at the same time. Of course that was only for the better – it wouldn't have been fair on little Benjamin had his dad ended up in jail.

And yet John couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed at the man's reaction. He shouldn't let guilt overcome him; he'd simply done what he had to do, after all. He should be proud of it instead.

In a couple of days he was going to receive the gift he'd sent his way; a pocket edition of _Hamlet_, courtesy of a (non-existent) book club.

Hopefully he'd learn that revenge was always worth whatever price you had to pay for it.


End file.
